The Gospel today begins behind locked doors.

That is where the risen Christ comes.

The doors are shut.
The disciples are afraid.
The air is thick with failure, confusion, shame, and grief.

They are not brave men.
Not triumphant men.
Not men ready to change the world.

They are frightened men
hiding in a room.

That matters.

Because Divine Mercy Sunday begins there.

Not with strong people.
Not with successful people.
Not with people who have held everything together.

It begins with frightened disciples behind locked doors.

And Jesus comes. That is mercy.

He does not wait for them to come out.
He comes in.
He does not begin with reproach.
He does not say, “Where were you?”
He does not say, “Why did you run?”
He does not say, “You failed me.”

He says: “Peace be with you.”

That is the first gift of mercy.

Not that sin is ignored.
Not that failure does not matter.
But that Christ comes first with peace.

Then He shows them His hands and His side.

That matters too.

The risen Christ does not hide His wounds.
He carries them into the room.

The wounds are not erased by the Resurrection.
They are glorified.
The marks of His Passion remain.
Why?

Because mercy is not cheap.
Peace is not pretend.
Forgiveness is not make-believe.

The peace He gives comes through the wounds.
The mercy He gives comes through the Passion.
The risen Christ stands before them as the crucified Christ now victorious.

Then He breathes on them and says: “Receive the Holy Spirit.
Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them.”

That is one of the greatest moments in the whole Gospel.

Because Divine Mercy is not only a feeling in the heart of God.
It is a gift Christ has placed in His Church.

The risen Lord does not merely announce that mercy exists.
He gives His apostles the authority to forgive sins in His name.

Mercy is not vague.
Not just a comforting thought.
Not just “God understands.”

Mercy is sacramental.
Mercy speaks.
Mercy absolves.
Mercy reaches sinners through the Church.

The same Lord who stood in that room
still speaks through His Church: “I absolve you from your sins.”

That is Divine Mercy.

Not sin explained away.
Not guilt brushed aside.
But sins truly forgiven through the power of the risen Christ.

Then there is Thomas.

And Thomas matters, because many people are like Thomas.

He was not there the first time.
He hears the witness of the others.
And still he says: “Unless I see… unless I touch… I will not believe.”

That is not only stubbornness.
It is also woundedness.
Thomas has been broken by the Passion.
He cannot yet bear to hope.
He would rather demand proof than risk disappointment again.

And many people are like that with God.

They do not refuse faith because they are against it necessarily.
Often they refuse because they are hurt.
They do not want to trust and be let down.
They do not want to hope and be disappointed.
So they harden themselves.
They set conditions.

Unless.
Unless.
Unless.

And what does Christ do?

Eight days later, He comes again.

That is mercy too.

He comes back for Thomas.

He does not say, “You had your chance.”
He does not cast him off. He does not shame him in front of the others.

He comes back.
He speaks to the doubter.
He invites him: “Put your finger here.
See my hands.
Put out your hand, and place it in my side.
Do not disbelieve, but believe.”

That is Divine Mercy.

Christ is patient with slow faith.
Patient with fear.
Patient with doubt.
Patient with wounded hearts.

But notice this: His mercy does not leave Thomas in unbelief.

Mercy comforts, but mercy also calls.
Mercy heals, but mercy also demands.
Mercy does not say, “Stay as you are.”
Mercy says, “Come further. Believe.”

And Thomas gives one of the greatest confessions in the Gospel:
“My Lord and my God!”

That is where mercy leads.

Not just to feeling better.
Not just to relief.
But to adoration.

Divine Mercy is not only about Christ removing fear.
It is about bringing us to faith,
to worship,
to surrender.

The first reading shows what that life looks like in the Church.

“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship,
to the breaking of bread and the prayers.”

That is the shape of a people who have received mercy.

Truth.
Communion.
The Eucharist.
Prayer.

And then generosity.
Steadiness.
Joy.
A shared life.

Mercy is not a private experience hidden away in the soul.
It builds the Church.
It makes a people.
It creates a new way of living.

And St Peter tells us why:
we have been born anew to a living hope through the Resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.

A living hope.

Not wishful thinking.
Not a fragile optimism.
A living hope.

That is what mercy gives.
Because mercy means my sins do not get the last word.
My failures do not get the last word.
My locked doors do not get the last word.
Christ does.

So the question today is very simple.

Where are the locked doors in us?

What room have we shut up?
What fear still rules?
What sin has gone unconfessed?
What wound has become an excuse for unbelief?
Where are we still saying, “Unless…”

Because the risen Christ comes there.
To that room.
To that fear.
To that shame.
To that doubt.

And He still says: “Peace be with you.”

But He says it with wounded hands.
With pierced side.
With the authority to forgive.
With the power to raise up what sin has broken.

That is why Divine Mercy Sunday is not soft or wishy-washy.
It is glorious.
It is costly.
It is real.

Mercy is not God pretending sin does not matter.
Mercy is God taking sin so seriously that He sends His Son to bear it,
rise with its power broken, and place forgiveness into the hands of His Church.

So do not stand outside mercy.
Do not stay at a distance.
Do not leave it as a devotion only.

Come into it.

Bring the locked room.
Bring the fear.
Bring the sin.
Bring the doubt.

And hear again the word of the risen Lord:
“Peace be with you.”

Then believe.
Then kneel.
Then say with Thomas, from the heart and not only with the lips:

“My Lord and my God.”